Borderline are the thoughts and experiences of singer songwriter Sian Cook as she developes her music alongside her education.
Dreams. Borderline. Reality. No mingling. You got that? The two categories are segregated. Each vine never to entwine with its twin.
But let's have a brainstorm, allow me to begin.
Dream: To have a professional career in something that I love.
Reality: To have a job where a portion of happiness is sacrificed and money grows on trees. Not to mention getting married, having 2.1 children with razor sharp vision and perfect teeth.
Tough decision isn't it. Still confused?
Tolerate my selfishness. I shall apply this concept to the very air that I breathe.
But first, a little personal history.
A Level's are disgusting. Fact. They knock you down, exhaust you with pointless facts you'll never recall again. You can forget your social life. Two years gruelling through text books, don't even get me started. What can I say? There's no rest for the wicked. But the wicked amongst us do see the light at the end of the tunnel. We just need a little encouraging in other vicinities outside the academic environment. I mean that in the most platonic terms possible.
Revising for exams got depressing. Go to school. Revision. Get back home. Revise until brain cells are unable to interact resourcefully. Communication via email no longer seen as efficient. Something had to give or something, anything had to break up this tedious pattern of labour. I was desperate.
And then.
No I couldn't.
Dare me.
How could your left hand play numerous notes at a different speed to your right? This was like a math problem. A great-big-stinking-one.
One that after a while actually makes sense.
Suddenly my fingers slide over the keys effortlessly. My hands, as if belonging to a blind man, graze the notes so naturally to then surrender to the vigour of the chorus. Back to the verse. Chorus. Repeat. For all you linguistic winners out there, contrast speaking a foreign language as if it were your native tongue. My brain spins into overload. This is a handy skill to have. Let's put it to the test.
First gig. Christchurch park. Suffolk songwriters. Oh my goodness. Next up, Hannah Scott. It's official. The man upstairs has obviously taken an extreme dislike towards me. Why do I have to go on after someone amazingly talented? Next stop, Sian Cook. Cursing under my breath, I brave the stage.
The audience silent. Quite a laughable moment really. I look up to see tilting of heads to the sides, like penguins querying the human race.
My heart strives to explode out of my chest. I can't do this. I really can't.
Shut up and get on with it.
3 songs. All original compositions combined with unique lyrics receive a round of applause.
Sorry, what?
Clapping? Do I see smiles? Did someone just ask me if I had a CD? Blimey they can't have been paying much attention.
Alright, let's do another gig. And another. Oh why not, enter a song writing competition. It's all about the experience.